Forbidden Sights
by Aria7
Summary: Why did Grima throw the Palantir from Orthanc?


Forbidden sight

Sights unseen.

He had not intended to touch it. He had not intended to even look at it. He had told him that it was off limits to wandering hands that still smelt of horse and dirt. It was off limits to anyone but Him. But it was tempting, oh so very tempting. He could hear it calling him, softly and sweetly. Though the globe was dark its call was crystal light and fair.

It was a compulsion, he must touch it, see it, _speak with it_.

He could hear the Wizards arguing, talking, speaking, threatening. He could hear the White Wizard speaking his fair words of compassion and of hate through a film of mist. The words were there but he could not understand them. Yet the voiceless words uttered by the globe that Saruman so prized, those he could hear even though they were as formless and incomprehensible by ears alone as ever those uttered by the great men about him and below. There out upon the balcony He stood paying no attention to what occurred within the Tower. Why should he? He had been told to stay far away from that most cherished object, but how could he when it called to him so?

Tentatively, hesitantly he came closer, shuffled nearer to where it lay upon its pedestal, waiting for him. Carefully, slowly, warily he raised a hand to its smooth surface.

It was _not_ cold. Glass was what he had expected for glass is what it seemed to be, filled as it appeared with dark clouds, but glass it was not and cold it was not. Rather the surface was warm seeming to have been gently heated in burning embers.

A globe of crystal, dark, but glowing with a heart of fire.

He could feel the voices, _voice,_ reaching out to him in his mind, speaking to him with words he could never understand. Softly and then urgently they spoke, _it spoke,_ confusion, bewilderment, anger.

He could not look away.

At first all he could feel was that gentle heat but soon a fire took hold, raging through him, through his mind, _in his mind._

 _Green trees untouched by man or fell beast._

 _Waters blessedly peaceful and calm._

 _Ships sailing without fear in the deeps._

 _Days and nights that never seemed to end, for such was the bliss they brought._

 _Silver light and golden light that mingled in the heavens above._

 _Buildings rising above all but the mountain eyries and looking like none he had ever known._

 _A house, a hall filled with song, filled with laughter, filled with love._

 _A city, dark and deserted._

 _A room, bare except for a single dark glass stone sat upon a pedestal._

 _A woman with hair like burnished copper, like no woman he had ever laid eyes upon, before the stone._

It was then that he realised that it was her voice, her will that he could hear, that he could know. It was she, this woman like no other woman, she that was woman but was not woman that spoke to him.

Sharp tongued, flame haired, fire spirited, no longer was she and the stone gentle but raging, upset, angry. He was not the one she sought; he knew this as clearly as he knew how to tame a stallion's temper. He did not question how, did not question why, did not question the reason he had seen such sights through her eyes. He could not hear her words with his ears though he understood their meaning, would always understand their meaning: he did not have knowledge of the one she sought and so, he was not wanted.

A single word, a command, but not from Him, forced him to release the sphere, his movement hurling it from its designated place.

Bereft, he was bereft. Alone. Unwanted.

A crack.

A cry, _from him and not from him_ , erupted. He turned, his hands held tight to his chest, they still felt the heat from the stone and from the not-woman; he stared at the Wizard upon the open balcony. _He_ was why he was first bereft, first alone, first unwanted and now this stone had dealt him a double blow. Both had tricked him, calling to him with soft words.

Hands shaking he grasped it once more, hissing, cursing them all three who would hurt him, and so he threw it as one might throw an apple. Suddenly, unexpectedly airborne it sailed through the space between them out into the day beyond, missing a glancing blow as it whistled past the Wizard who stumbled backwards the cry still upon his lips.

It was done, the voices were silent and he fell upon the floor.

 _"At that moment a heavy shining thing came hurtling down from above. It glanced off the iron rail, even as Saruman left it, and passing close to Gandalf's head, it smote the stair on which he stood. The rail rang and snapped. The stair cracked and splintered in glittering sparks. But the ball was unharmed; it rolled on down the steps, a globe of crystal, dark, but glowing with a heart of fire."_

 _J.R.R Tolkien, The Two Towers. The Voice of Saruman._

 **Note:**

Once again I return before another year ends, although this is not the story I thought I would be posting. I actually thought I had posted this particular story years ago.

This story was written for a writers prompt to explain why Grima threw the palantir. But, can any careful reader work out who was on the other end of the Palantir?

As for the other story, well, that's progressing and hopefully I won't be here this time next year for the first time in a year again...


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